


they're mysterious and spooky, they're altogether... probably evil. definitely criminals. stay back.

by JCBookworm



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Character Death, Inspired by Addams Family, Minor The Aurora/Nastya Rasputina, No Beta We Die Like The Mechs, but it's the mechs so you knew that, not enough that i'm making it a main tag at the moment though, very loosely, will probably add more tags if i do any more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26847934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JCBookworm/pseuds/JCBookworm
Summary: The Aurora House is on the very outskirts of the city, surrounded in mystery and a fair few horror stories. The people who live there are the subject of much debate, with people holding whispered discussions about their personal lives, whether they're really sane, whether they're really human...Well, I can tell you all about the first. The other two, you'll have to decide for yourself.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 68





	they're mysterious and spooky, they're altogether... probably evil. definitely criminals. stay back.

**Author's Note:**

> You can absolutely blame the Distant Stars Awaiting tumblr group chat for this. I was perfectly happy settling in at uni, then someone suggested an Addams family au and my mind took off. Joking of course, I love you guys.
> 
> This is kind of based on the Addams Family, but there isn't really an exact correlation between characters. It's mostly self-indulgent, but ah well. It also might not be great, but it's the quickest I've ever completed a fanfic and I have the attention span of a very distracted squirrel, so I did my best.
> 
> Title of course from the Addams Family. I thought it was funny.
> 
> Enjoy!

The story begins in the way it always would for this.

On the outskirts of a bright, bustling city, there is a dark, dark forest. At the edge of the dark, dark forest, there is a dark, dark graveyard. And before the dark, dark graveyard, there is a dark, dark house.

And so the story has begun.

The House’s name is Aurora. Most houses do not have names, but this is a House, and so it needs a name. It is a beautiful house, large and rambling and constantly changing. Wrought iron gates enclose the property, not that anyone would enter if they were not tasked with mail delivery. Such a person comes now: approaching slowly and warily. They have not delivered to this place before: it tends to be a one-time delivery sort of place, with the mail workers not tempted to return after leaving with shrieks and tears. Or, sometimes, not returning at all. Either way, our current unfortunate had heard quite the number of horror stories about the place, and so it was with trepidation that they approached the door with the parcel in their hands.

They managed to evade the carefully reaching brambles along the path to reach the doorbell, a hanging rope that they managed, after a reasonable amount of shifting, to pull. It was here that it occurred to them that they actually had still been holding the, rather heavy, parcel when they entered the front garden, with no memory of having opened the gate. Indeed, when they chanced a look behind them, the gate was firmly shut. (This, of course, can be easily explained: the Aurora extended to the border and, realising immediately that it would be inconvenient to have to open and close a gate with such a package, completed the task for the mail person. She is thoughtful like that.) All those thoughts flew away, though, when the doorbell emitted a shuddering noise that reverberated through the house, shaking the poor mail person down to their bones, and the door flew open.

Behind it stood a man with wild eyeliner and hair, and an overly complicated set of belts around his waist and a collection of other locations belts are not particularly made for. He scowled at the person before noticing the parcel, upon which his eyes lit up with glee.

“A delivery!” He crowed, then stepped forward with his head angled as though to try and read th address. “Is it for me?”

“Uh,” the mail delivery person replied eloquently. “Are you… Mx. Nunya O’Bisniss?”

“Oh.” The man’s face fell. “No. They get all the fun.” His face brightened slightly. “Nunya O’Bisniss, though, that’s pretty funny for Ashes.”

The poor deliverer was trying their hardest to keep up with the man’s rapidly changing facial expressions, so it took them a while to realise that the door was being held open wider and the man had an impatient look on his face.

“Come in, then,” he snapped. “Ashes won’t let me touch their deliveries anymore, not after the dynamite. You’ll have to follow.”

And with that, he stalked into the foyer leaving no choice but for the hapless courier to follow.

A mistake, probably, but a moderately amusing one.

Inside, the messenger (as I shall now refer to them – it lends a certain air of poetry. No capitals, as I have decided in this instant) followed the man down a short flight of stairs and into the main atrium area. They firmly kept their gaze to the floor, trying to avoid the various statues: a massive beast with a knight next to it, two vaguely human-shaped figures, one reaching and the other pulling away, and a massive spider with cobwebs lifting its legs.

They _hated_ spiders.

They turned their gaze back to the rug under their feet, then immediately wished they’d gone slower. It was a sharp rainbow pattern, shifting and hypnotic, dizzying, immersive—

The reverie was broken when the man followed their eyeline and snorted.

“Hideous, isn’t it?” He remarked. “We want rid of it, but Marius got it and insists on it being there, it just won’t go away.” He screwed up his nose. “Bit like him, really. Anyway—” He strode over to the side and gripped a mighty bellpull, pulling it with a mighty clash. Unfortunately, he was too busy to see a smartly dressed figure approach almost instantly, instead irritably staring at the far door.

“Where is that no good—” he began muttering, before the figure stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder, and he interrupted himself with a yelp.

“Jonny!” The figure beamed. The messenger could hear the exclamation in its voice. “You Have Brought A Guest!”

“Don’t _do_ that!” Jonny snapped. “Yes, I have. They’ve a package for Ashes.”

The figure stood still, beaming continually at Jonny until he finally threw his hands in the air. “Go on then! Go fetch them!”

“Right-Ho, Jonny!” The figure gave a neat salute and turned on its heels. The messenger tried to shake the odd feeling that it was not made of a typical human biology. Jonny didn’t bother to speak, to busy muttering angrily to himself, so they were left shifting slightly awkwardly on the distressing rug.

A short time later, the stairway creaked in anticipation, two new people descending. The first made their way over straight away to Jonny, tilting their head.

“You called?” They sighed, mildly exasperated. Jonny made a face at them.

“Yeah.” He gestured to the box. “You’ve a delivery, Ashes.”

Ashes grinned and grabbed the box from the messenger, who had still been left holding it, and set it on a nearby table with only one leg to open.

Inside was, predictably (though not for the rather startled messenger) a large and very full can of gasoline, with neatly packed matches alongside. Ashes let out a whoop of excitement. The messenger wondered desperately how they had been allowed to carry matches alongside such very flammable liquid.

As a whole, Ashes was uninterested in the various interchangeable messengers, especially if the delivery was for them, and so rather quickly left without a word and with the large box. Jonny glared at the messenger, clearly wondering what they were still stood there for. The messenger appeared to be thinking something similar, and began to lift a hand in farewell, moderately relieved that they had escaped unscathed. Clearly the other post office workers were talking rubbish, probably some form of hazing—

“Are you leaving?”

Oh no.

They turned to see the other person who had accompanied Ashes, a slight woman with brown hair and a heavy coat. She blinked at them with a look that reminded them of when their older sister thought they were doing something they shouldn’t be.

“Uh,” They began, but she was beaming at Jonny with a deviously cruel look in her eyes.

“Why don’t we show them round?” She asked him. He looked rather like he’d prefer to do anything else, including stabbing out his own eyes. “We so rarely have guests.”

Jonny reluctantly made eye contact with them, then sighed as though there were some inside reference forcing him to agree. (For the record – there was. But that’s quite frankly none of your concern.)

“Fine,” he agreed.

The woman turned to them and stuck out her hand. “Nastya Rasputina,” she introduced. “You’ve met Jonny. I’ll introduce you to the others – and Aurora.” She stroked the wall lovingly. The messenger leaned into Jonny.

“Isn’t that the house?” They asked in low tones.

“The House,” Jonny corrected absently. “But yeah. Don’t ask.”

They weren’t going to.

Instead, they followed Nastya through another side door into a beautiful conservatory, within which were plants of all manner of size, shape and colour. It was full, but the walls stretched so high and were bright and clean enough that it had none of the grim museum-feel from before.

“Don’t touch,” Nastya warned suddenly. The messenger sprung their hands back from the glossy pink petals they were about to feel. Nastya hadn’t turned around, but Jonny regarded them with a mildly put-out expression that they had pulled away. The messenger tucked their hands firmly into their pockets and hastily followed Nastya.

The room, though gorgeous, was empty of people other than the three of them, and the messenger couldn’t help noticing that despite the plants being arranged as suitably as possible, lots of space was wasted on the perhaps overly-large walkways. It rather seemed that someone who cared for their plants as much as whoever looked after these evidently did would be willing to sacrifice the desire to have people walk two-abreast in favour of space. Nastya scrunched up her face at the lack of people, then leaned against the wall. Jonny ensured that he’d made eye contact with her, then deliberately gagged and swung away to look at a spiky flower.

As if on cue, a large bang followed by a curse echoed from one of the nearby expanses of stone next to the window, where the conservatory connected with the house. Grinning, Nastya rapped three times loudly and then stepped back.

The wall flew open to reveal what was actually a door straight into a spiral staircase, part winding up, and the other down. Another woman poked her head out.

“What?” She barked, then raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Hello, Nastya.” Eyebrow narrowed. “Jonny. And—” and now they widened slightly upon seeing the messenger. “Oh! A guest.”

“We’re giving them the tour,” Nastya explained. The new woman gave her a look.

“We?”

“I’m giving them the tour,” Nastya corrected. “Jonny’s coming because I don’t trust him alone.”

Jonny muttered some rather unkind things which Nastya gamely ignored. The woman snickered slightly, then beamed at the messenger.

“Hello,” she greeted. She might have said something else, but they were distracted by her fully exiting the staircase and the reveal of why the pathways were so wide.

She had two, very large, beautiful, wings attached to her back.

“Hello?” She repeated, watching them with an amused expression. They could do nothing but stare at her. “I’m sorry, what’s wrong?”

They didn’t speak still, so she nodded innocently. “I know.” She twisted a strand of blonde hair around her fingers. “It was just a trim, but it’s still done a bit different to normal. I don’t think I’ll do it like that again.”

Everyone in the room was clearly aware that they were not looking at her hair, but they nodded anyway.

“It looks nice,” they managed to stammer out, and she beamed at them.

“Cheers!”

“What was that noise?” Jonny asked, having been attracted by the loud noise. The woman grimaced.

“Bad combination.” She shook her head. “I suppose lead, mercury _and_ francium was too much. Shouldn’t have started with steel.”

Her eyes flickered around absently, then brightened. “Unless I make an alloy with copper…”

She wasn’t paying attention to the group anymore at all, so Nastya placed a hand on the messenger’s shoulders and began to guide them away.

“Raphaella’s a bit… eccentric,” she explained in low tones. “Best let her alone when she gets like this.”

“Unless you want her to take you as an assistant!” Jonny exclaimed, slapping their other shoulder. “That’s how we lost the takeaway delivery man.”

Jonny wasn’t joking, and the messenger wisely chose not to ask.

They walked back out into the main area, and the messenger had to do a double take. The stairs, previously curving up to the right, now reached halfway its height before splitting off to both sides.

Nastya noticed too, but she beamed rather than looking confused. “That’s lovely!” She cooed, reaching out to stroke one of the banisters. “It looks gorgeous.”

Jonny gagged again. The messenger was starting to think that maybe Nastya was not exactly single.

She lead them up the left hand split, and they came out on an ornately patterned wooden floor. Jonny hummed in approval, then both he and Nastya paused, heads tilted. The messenger wasn’t sure what they were listening for, until a loud curse came from one of the doors. They nodded as one and opened the door without knocking.

Inside, a man with shoulder length hair lay on the floor next to a chair, staring blankly up at the ceiling. It was an odd looking room, full of tubes and strange metal instrument. Jonny frowned at the man and then strode over and kicked him, hard in the side.

The man didn’t look very surprised, at either Jonny or the strange metallic ring that was produced, but he did roll his head over to glare.

“I’m busy,” he snapped. Snorting, Jonny turned and raised a hand to the messenger.

“I’m sure you can pause your “doing-nothing” for five minutes to meet our guest,” he sneered.

The man pulled himself up abruptly. “We have a visitor?” He tilted his body nearer to Jonny and then, in a stage whisper, said, “After what happened to the last one?”

“I was surprised too!” Jonny said brightly. “Nastya insisted, though. I guess it’ll be on her if they… er—”

He’d trailed away because Nastya was levelling the glare of the century upon him.

The man sniggered, then rose unsteadily and held out a hand to the messenger.

“Brian,” he introduced. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

Brian’s hand was cold when the messenger shook it. Of course, this was because Brian was made of metal, but the messenger didn’t need to know that, did they?

They _might_ have noticed, actually, but after the wings, the changing architecture and the fact that the pictures on the walls had definitely been moving, they wisely decided against commenting on it.

“What were you even doing, Brian?” Nastya inquired, leaning forward to try and see whatever Brian had been looking at. His face flashed guiltily.

“I… ah, I was thinking of trying to see the stars.”

Both Jonny and Nastya looked towards the fallen chair sceptically, and Brian grimaced. “Yeah. There was a problem with the adjustments.”

Jonny sucked in a breath, and Brian, seeming to realise his mistake, held out his hands to Nastya. “Not big adjustments! Just a couple of changes to the inner workings, it’s not _my_ fault that Aurora was being uncooperative—”

 _Bang_.

Nastya’s murderous expression had turned literal, and Brian lay dead upon the floor. The messenger thought that they should scream, but quite honestly they were struck silent. They had never seen someone die before, and certainly not in such a cold and abrupt manner. The veiled threats and hints that Jonny had been dropping turned into a cold weight.

For his part, Jonny groaned. By most people’s measure, this was hardly an appropriate reaction to witnessing a murder, but then Jonny had never cared to satisfy other people’s expectations.

“We’re going to have to drag him with us now,” he muttered.

Nastya shrugged and muttered something that sounded along the lines of ‘worth it’, though to be fair the messenger was still trying to shake the sound of the gunshot out of their head. When she gripped their sleeve to lead them away, they didn’t argue. They were too busy desperately trying to figure out how to escape.

They travelled down the hallway, down a flight of stairs, along a curve, up another flight of stairs, and to a solid door. Jonny dragged Brian behind them by one leg, complaining the whole time. In the back of their mind, the messenger morbidly wondered if there would be a long path of blood behind them all, but refused to turn back to check. They quailed at the thought of seeing the limp corpse flopping along.

Nastya actually did knock this time, and the door was flung open immediately by a cheerful man with a _bright_ assortment of clothing.

“Took you long enough!” He beamed, then, in answer to the questioning looks, continued with, “Aurora told me. Or, rather, she informed me when he started tinkering, so I had plenty of time to get here and set up a bed. Come on in!”

They all managed to lug in Brian, the messenger ensuring that their eyes were diverted, and throw him onto a bed. The man threw a searching look at the messenger.

“The Soldier informed me that there’s a guest,” he hummed, then dipped into a low bow. “Welcome! I am Doctor Marius Von Raum—”

“Not a doctor,” Jonny interrupted.

“Not a captain,” Marius shot back, clearly referencing some inside joke. He turned back to the messenger as though Jonny had never spoken. “I hope you’ve been having a wonderful time in our humble abode—”

“Are you insane?”

Marius looked rather put out at having been interrupted again, and it took the messenger a second to realise that it was them. They couldn’t seem to stop the words.

“You—” point at Nastya— “just shot someone! You—” point at Jonny— “just watched her! You’ve been dropping threats since I got here! _You_ —” point at Marius (who they didn’t really know, but I suppose fair is fair)— “apparently _knew_ it would happen, and just set up a bed! What’s that going to do? Everyone in this house is completely insane!”

They turned to run, having reached the end of their ill-thought out rant to three murderers (four if you were to include Brian, who was still dead and so I don’t; in their defence, only one if you’re only counting those that they knew were murderers), but the door had shut itself. They wheeled back around slowly, fully ready to see guns prepared to silence them, only to see three fully bewildered faces staring at them.

“Of _course_ I put Brian in a bed,” Marius started eventually. “This is the medbay. He’s only dead.”

Jonny hummed disagreeably. “Not quite,” he murmured, and Marius swung round. The messenger couldn’t help but also peek at the bed, to see Brian breathing shallowly, the gunshot completely healed.

They stared some more.

“I would like to go home now,” they finally admitted in a low tone.

Pouting, Jonny crossed his arms. “But we haven’t finished the tour yet!” He protested. Jonny had apparently (and, if you knew him as well as I do, predictably) come around to the whole ‘tour’ idea.

Nastya hummed, examining the messenger’s ashen face. “Maybe we should hurry it up, a bit,” she admitted. “They’re not looking great. Marius, what’s your expert opinion?”

“Bad,” Marius shouted jovially from where he was checking on Brian. “Bye now!”

One on either side of the messenger, Jonny and Nastya marched them back along the corridor. Marius watched them go from his perch next to the bed.

“Emotional being, aren’t they?” He commented mildly. Brian, who had only managed to catch the tail end snippets of what had happened, could only hum in agreement.

Meanwhile, along another series of corridors which definitely shouldn’t have existed in the House’s area, Nastya and Jonny were herding the messenger through yet another door and into a darkened area, full of wood and plush carpets. Nastya put a finger to her lips as she lead the way down the spiral staircase. Even Jonny was making something of an effort to hush his footsteps.

It was the sort of room (or ‘series of rooms’) you might expect in a house as presumably old as this. A library, the shelves stocked with old and new books, hardcover and paperback and even just filed sheets, all immaculately kept in order by someone.

Someone who, sitting in an antique armchair at the other end, looked up in extreme irritation as Nastya reached the ground floor with a slight wave.

“What are you doing?” The person asked in surprise. Nastya stepped aside to let the messenger through. “Ah.”

“This is Ivy,” Nastya introduced. “This is technically the house library, but she’s pretty much claimed it.”

Ivy sniggered and waved, through the messenger could see that her attention was already flicking back to her book. Nastya seemed to have expected this outcome, because she simply began walking towards the far door before halting suddenly.

“Hey, Ivy?”

“Mm?”

“Where’s Tim?”

“He’s outside,” Ivy informed her, voice distant as her eyes never left the page. Nastya made a small noise of thanks and continued on.

The messenger was getting the sense that they were coming to the end of the tour and, unsure of exactly what awaited them, decided to try making conversation.

“What’s through there?” They asked Jonny, pointing to a sealed and dusty old, carved door. Jonny’s eyes flashed.

“None of your business,” he muttered in allow tone. “Ask me anything again and I will eat your head.”

The door lead to a tower which was one of my favourite places in the House, and therefore naturally Jonny’s least favourite. As far as commentary went, the messenger had pretty much picked the worst place possible. But they decided that Jonny was not worth pressing, and so fell into an uncomfortable silence.

They finally approached a set of double doors spilling light into the moody hallways. If the House really could change its layout then it seemed to have decided to go the scenic route. The doors opened automatically, and they stepped out into the rambling gardens.

The gardens had pretty much been left to do as they wished, which meant that there were wide paths around winding through the wildest, messiest greenery the messenger had ever seen. Jonny and Nastya seemed fine picking their way along: they either knew how to avoid the brambles, or simply didn’t care about getting scratched. Probably both.

The messenger had a more difficult time with it, but kept up with the other two as best they could. By the time they had managed to catch up properly, they had both stopped opposite another man with long hair, leaning back against a tree. He opened one eye, which looked as though something very serious indeed had happened to it, and frowned.

“Who’s that?” He asked. The messenger didn’t bother speaking, because Jonny had already waved a hand at them.

“They’re nothing, don’t worry. We’re giving them a tour. Delivery person, this is Tim.”

He had apparently forgotten hi recent irritation in favour of scowling at Tim. No, not Tim—something in Tim’s lap. It moved, wiggling slightly, then poked its head out—

Oh!

Tim saw the messenger start smiling, and grinned in response. “Cute, isn’t he?” He scratched the cat behind its ears and it purred. “This one here’s Fireball.”

“He’s adorable,” the messenger admitted. “I’ve always loved cats.”

Tim blinked, then chuckled. “This isn’t a cat,” he said.

The messenger was about to argue that, actually, it very clearly _was_ a cat, but then Tim held him up and they felt a shudder of horror.

Where the bottom half of the body should be were eight tentacles, suddenly flailing at their lack of a support.

“It’s an octokitten,” Tim explained.

This was a nightmare.

“Let’s go,” Jonny snapped, still glowering at the ‘octokitten’. “I hate those things.”

“They’re cute,” Nastya shot back mildly, leaning forward to stroke Fireball. She turned to the messenger. “Do you want to stroke him?”

“No, thank you,” the messenger managed to stammer out. “I’ve—” they coughed, trying to sound a bit braver. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Sure,” Nastya agreed, and turned to go back in. The messenger had to remember to move after her and Jonny, silently cursing themselves that they hadn’t even thought of saying that at the beginning.

The walk back was definitely shorter, and soon enough they were back in the central room, which looked moderately unchanged – rainbow rug and all.

“Do you need anything?” Nastya asked. The messenger shook their head firmly, then reluctantly handed her a form.

“Just your signature,” they admitted. She nodded and signed with a flourish.

The messenger stood, incredibly unsure as to what to do next. It was solved very quickly when Jonny pulled a gun from his belts and pointed it directly at them.

“Go,” he commanded, slowly.

The messenger didn’t wait to be told twice.

“It was nice to meet you,” they managed to push out, then turned on their heel and sprinted out of the door (which, very conveniently, opened for them).

They were never going there again.

Jonny and Nastya watched from the window. Jonny hummed, thoughtful.

“I didn’t mind them,” he admitted eventually. Nastya grinned.

“Great! We’ve been needing a regular delivery person. I’ll phone the post office, have them put in the paperwork to have that one every time.”

She nodded firmly to herself. “I think they liked us.”

Jonny grinned back at her. “How could they not?”

**Author's Note:**

> Me, halfway through: oh this isn't as long as i'd hoped :/  
> Me, three-quarters of the way through: oh.
> 
> If you did manage to get through that, thank you! Please feel free to drop a comment or come chat to me on [tumblr](https://jcbookworm.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also there's some references to other things as well! If you spot the funnybones reference I will love you. It's very obvious but I loved that book and couldn't resist. 
> 
> I marked this as complete, but I do have a few more ideas for this au? If any of you would be interested in seeing more of it, let me know <3 , as well as if you see any glaring errors
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


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